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I exhale my relief when Zinnea appears, dressed to the nines, but her makeup is far from perfect. I smile.
Beau’s wide eyes follow her aunt’s tall body across the driveway. “That’s right. You do the walk of shame.”
“I don’t walk, darling,” Zinnea says, flicking her hair over her shoulder. “I sashay.”
“You do the sashay of shame.” Rose giggles.
“You bet your ass I will!” Zinnea stops, kicks a leg up, her head back, and goes into catwalk mode, taking the steps in style as we all laugh behind her.
“Does this mean we get to meet Quinton now?” Beau calls.
“We’re only at oral, darling. Give it time.”
“Jesus Christ,” Tank grunts, shaking his head, and all the girls chuckle.
Zinnea stops at the front door and braces a hand on each side, posing. “Where are you gorgeous chops going?”
“Shopping. You coming?”
“Do The Brit and The Enigma murder on mass?”
I shake my head, bemused, and hold up my laptop. “I’m going to get my jacket. Where’s my bodyguard?”
“Here,” Fury grunts. He looks thrilled.
“Ready for some shopping?”
“No.”
“Fabulous. Give me five minutes.” I call my goodbye to the others as I dash up the steps past Zinnea, heading to our room, excited for my outing. Distraction. I refuse to look at Brad’s door as I pass.
I let myself in and go to the bathroom. “Hey, Anya, you in there?”
There are a few bangs, a collection of knocks, and the sound of frantic movements. “Yes!” she yelps.
I step back from the wood. “Are you okay?”
The door opens and Anya appears, rubbing her head. “I hit my head.”
“Ouch,” I say, wincing. “Let me see.” She removes her hand and I have a quick check. “There’s no cut. Might be a bump though. I’m heading into town. Coming?”
She moves past me and opens the wardrobe, rubbing at her head again. “I need to go to work.”
“And I don’t,” I muse quietly, slipping my things into my bag and grabbing my jacket. “See you later.”
15
BRAD
* * *
I kill most of my day in my old apartment just sitting on the floor in the corner. Alone. Letting my mind turn in circles, driving myself crazy. Fucking Allison didn’t have the desired effect. Nowhere close. Taking her back to the house? Don’t ask me what the fuck I was doing. Being a jerk? Stirring shit when I should be letting it settle? Not that it matters. Pearl was unfazed by my childish stunt. I feel used. Abused. Injured. It’s fucking ridiculous. Allison rode me like her life depended on it last night, screaming, crying out, thrashing her head around. Her effort was commendable. And fucking pointless. I couldn’t come. Chased the fucking release for hours and got nowhere close. Then I relented to all that is fucked up, blanked out Allison, put Pearl on my lap instead, and came on a bark of frustration, tossing Allison aside and taking myself onto the terrace to smoke my way through the rest of the night. Again, no sleep.
I laugh under my breath as I stub out my smoke in a used paint can. It’s a shell. Weeks away from being finished. Which means I’m weeks away from escaping. I pull my cell out of my inside pocket when it rings and sigh at the screen. “Allison,” I say with no warmth or happiness.
“Hey, handsome.”
I close my eyes and let my head rest back against the wall. “What can I do for you?” Stupid question. Allison had the time of her life last night. She’s an intelligent woman. Confident. She couldn’t have missed my absence.
